The World at Large
by kellyofsmeg
Summary: John Winchester has a life or death decision before him. And he only has a few seconds in which to make up his mind. Pre-series. Lots of angst. Wee!chesters.


**The World at Large**

**by kellyofsmeg**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.**

**...**

John Winchester has a life or death decision before him. And he only has a few seconds in which to make up his mind.

His trembling hands are held fast over the lever of a manual train track switch. The train is approaching at top speed, horn blaring, so near the vibrating of its chugging wheels makes the ground tremble. The train carriages go on for miles with seemingly no end. There are an infinite number of innocent people onboard—men, women, and children—possibly the whole world. And John knows that if he doesn't do something soon, if he doesn't pull that switch and change the tracks—every single person on that train is going to die.

The bridge stretching over the canyon is out—obliterated. If the train keeps going at the rate it is, it will careen straight off the tracks at an impossible speed and into the deep canyon below. He has tried shouting and waving his arms to warn the conductor, but his warnings went unnoticed. Even so, they don't have nearly enough track in which to slow down in time.

But John can't bring himself to just pull the lever, change the track the train is on and save the day; it's not that simple.

If he switches the tracks, his sons will die.

"Dad!" Dean is a ways down the railroad track, trying with all his might to get his six-year-old brother Sam's foot unstuck from between the railing. Sam is crying in terror and pain. Dean has nearly reached that point, too. He's pleading, "Dad! I can't save Sammy…_we need you!"_

Seconds.

And yet, time seems to stand still. He's in a vortex, where everything seems to move in slow motion.

"Dean, you have to save Sammy!" he bellows down the line.

"Dad, I'm trying!" Dean cries, tears running down his face as he tugs futilely at his brother's leg, trying to lift him free.

John grits his teeth. He shouldn't even be in this predicament; he had _forbid _Sam and Dean to leave the car, had ordered them to go back when he saw them running down the track towards him, carefree Sam being chased by Dean, yelling at him to come back. That's when, seconds ago, Sam had fallen, his foot caught fast, his ankle twisted. Dean is trying to remove his foot from his shoe as Sam wails in pain. Each cry is like a dagger in John's heart.

The sounds of his son's desperate cries are almost more than he can bear, but are drowned out as the train blares its horn madly, as if finally spotting the danger ahead. John can't remember ever feeling more helpless in his life. He couldn't leave his boys alone to fend for themselves while he saves lives and know they'll be alright on their own. Not this time. Dean's right; they need him. But so do the people on the train.

If he runs to help his sons, he won't have time to change the tracks and the train will stay on the path it's on, where countless innocent people will plummet to their fiery deaths. But his sons would survive. He knows there is no way he will be able to make the forty yard dash to free Sam and get the boys to safety and still be able to make it back in time to switch the tracks and save the passengers on the train.

If he stays where he is and switches the tracks, an incomprehensible number of lives will be saved—but at what cost? An unthinkable one: both his sons would be plowed into by the train and be killed instantly. Even though Sam is the only one in the immediate path of danger, John knows Dean would rather stay and get hit, too than watch his brother get killed. John knows if he has to watch his sons die, the heartache would kill him before the day's out. He knows if he tries to do both—switch the tracks and then run to help his boys, the three of them would all certainly be killed by the careening train; there simply isn't enough time.

His boys—his Sammy and his Dean—or the world. That is the weight of the choice John has to make. No matter the outcome, he knows he won't be able to live with himself and the guilt. And it shakes John to his core that he's not sure which alternative would give him more peace of mind; whose blood on his hands would cause more torment in his soul.

He tries to simplify things further in his mind—his sons whom he loves more than anything and had always been willing to protect at all costs, or complete strangers. Strangers just like him, with families they also love. Kids just like Sam and Dean. Had he finally found his price? Would he sacrifice Sam and Dean for the world? Or was their loss still too great a cost—did he value his son's lives more than the lives of approximately five and a half billion people? People who will all die if he doesn't do something in the next few seconds…

"_DAD!"_

Time chooses the final seconds to speed up again.

John's heart is beating so violently he can feel it through his rib cage. Sweat is pouring off him as his shaking hands nearly slip off the lever.

The sound of the train horn blaring and Sam and Dean's screams all meld into one as he stares hard down at the lever in his hands. To lower the lever or let it go? Life or death…but for whom? Now. He has to choose now.

NOW.

John sat up in bed with a huge, rasping breath, as if he was waking from the dead. He panted, his heart still racing. He can feel the sweat on his brow. A dream…it had all been a dream. No—a nightmare. And a deeply subconscious one at that. Even in his half-asleep state, his mind is still vividly aware of the scenario his brain dreamed up, able to recognize the parallels in his real life. It didn't take a rocket scientist or a fully cognisant brain to work out what the dream meant. What terrified him was that even in wakefulness, his dream was still demanding an answer. That's what he gets for choosing the rental house with the lowest rates in town because of its proximity to the railroad, something the landlord had neglected to mention before he handed over the keys.

John kicked aside his covers and swung his legs out of bed. He left his room and went down the hall to the bedroom Sam and Dean shared. He opened the door a crack, the light from the hallway spilling into the room. The boys are asleep in their double bed, safe out of harm's way, no trains in sight.

John was entirely aware that the child-parent roll was reversed as he crossed the room to the foot of the bed, climbing up onto the mattress and sidling himself in-between Sam and Dean's sleeping forms. After his nightmare, and the symbolic hard truths it had forced him to face, John just wanted to be near his sons.

Eight-year-old Dean slept like a log, making no notice his father had joined them. Sam rolled over, drawn towards the indentation John made in the mattress. Sam had always been a light sleeper, all tossing and turning, limbs everywhere, waking up multiple times during the night. So John wasn't at all surprised when Sam's arm flung out, hitting him in the face before coming to rest against his upper chest. Sam opened his eyes wide, realizing the face his hand had grazed a week's worth of stubble, and Dean didn't have a beard.

"Hi, Daddy," four-year-old Sam whispered uncertainly, looking surprised to see him. "What're you doing in our bed—did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah, buddy. I guess you can say that," said John softly, as unwelcome images of the nightmare surfaced afresh.

"Oh," said Sam sympathetically, knowing it was usually him and Dean who came running into their Dad's room at night when they had nightmares. He got scared a lot more than Dean did, because Dean was really brave. But every now and then, even Dean would have nightmares, and it always seemed to be the same one. Sam could never get him to talk about it, but once Dean's kicking and tossing woke him up, and Sam heard Dean call out for their Mom.

"It's okay, Daddy," said Sam sweetly. "You can sleep here."

"Thanks, kiddo," said John, putting his arm around Sam's shoulders as the boy rested his head against his chest and curling into his side. John inclined his head slightly, pressing a kiss into his youngest son's soft hair. Sam fell asleep again within moments, a comforting weight against his chest. John laid there and stared at the ceiling, turning his head to the side to see that Dean was still splayed out on his stomach in a deep sleep, face half-buried in his pillow. He reached out and flattened the feathers in the pillow around Dean's nose and mouth so he wouldn't accidentally smother himself in his sleep.

When John closed his eyes, all he could see were his boy's faces. And thinking more clearly in his consciousness, he felt a fierce, indignant burning in his chest at the thought of any threat to Sam and Dean; the reassurance he needed that there was _nothing_ he wouldn't do to protect them. John found his peace of mind, knowing he had made his choice. He was a hunter. He would do what he could for the world, changing the tracks whenever possible. But when it came to his boys, he knew he would go down swinging. Get them out of the path of danger. Put himself ahead of the train and give them time to run. He just hoped that him and his boys would never have such a weight on their shoulders as the fate of the world.

The Winchesters were safe for now. Together. John was right where he wanted to be, where he wished he always_ could _be. And outside, the world at large remained.

The End

...

AN: MAN, this was hard to write! I'm not a parent, but can you imagine the weight of that decision—your kids, or the world? This was a challenge prompt I gave myself, for John to really step back and examine his choices. I hope it all came to a semi-happy conclusion without being smacked too hard by my foreshadowing hammer…

And yes. The title was inspired by the Modest Mouse song.

And unless I get crazy busy writing and finishing some of my WIP's, I'm sorry to announce that this will be my last story for quite some time as I am going on hiatus. Life's getting pretty busy for me right now. So I hope you enjoyed this fic, and please review! :)


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